


Water and Fire and a Small Brave Bird

by Queenofthedragonsharks



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Coming of Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Origin Story, Other, fury road - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthedragonsharks/pseuds/Queenofthedragonsharks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cheedo was special. She was precious. They told her that over and over again. Cheedo was a songbird in a cage. But birds can't be kept forever.<br/>A fic exploring Cheedo's past, and her coming of age. A friend of mine was dissing Cheedo, so I wrote this. Drop me a line, tell me what you think!<br/>Warning for implied violence and sexual assault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water and Fire and a Small Brave Bird

Cheedo was special. She was precious. They told her that over and over again. Cheedo was a songbird in a cage.   
Her first memory is water. A rivulet in the cracked earth. A dark haired woman who might have been her mother gripping her hands and weeping with joy. Cheedo played in the tiny stream, chasing it until it dissolved into the ground. The woman holds her and sings in a voice like the wind, and they fall asleep under the stars.   
Her second memory is fire. Screeching metal and sharp voices, and running, held in the woman who was maybe her mother’s arms, running until they fell to the ground. And the woman stood and held a stick like a club and waved it and screamed, holding back the monsters in their strange cars, wrapped in bandages and grinning like death. The stick came down hard on a head, and it cracked. The shots rang out and the woman fell like all of the air was let out, and Cheedo cried and held on until the monsters with their bandages and their spiky cars ripped her away and carried her into the night.   
Because she was special. The monsters were men, and a few women maybe, and they roasted lizards above fires and they scavenged and picked through the wastes. And they had scavenged her. Because she was precious they said. Dark hair and dark eyes and whole. Sometime they stroked her hair, and sometimes they gave her toys to play with. Things they found among the ruins. They gave her cleanest of the filthy water, and they spoke to her in harsh voices she didn’t understand. And they were terrible, but they were kind, and she never understood why. And when she understood their words she knew. Because she was a precious thing. They called her Cheedo because that was the name that the woman who might have been her mother had screamed as she fell. And she was fast, and she was silent. She sat still for hours, waiting, and then her hand would dart out and come up holding a lizard. A present for the monsters who weren’t monsters. And she watched and she listened, and she learned. The stars were her friends, and the sky was her sanctuary. High above birds would sometimes fly, although she only saw a few in her whole time with her monsters. Cheedo held her arms out and ran in circles laughing, flapping her arms until they were wings, jumping off rocks until she was flying and free. She has almost forgotten them now. The monster who were not monsters. Later she would almost think it was all a dream. But in the end she remembered the truth. She hadn’t always been in a cage.  
The strange boys came in their strange cars, and her monsters fought them with fire and rage. And Cheedo cried because the noises were too loud and her monsters that weren’t monsters were dying. And she had run from her hiding place where they had said she was safe, and a car driven by the strange new monsters with their white skin and blackened eyes almost run her down before it screeched to a stop and she was hoisted up in strange arms and pushed down into a seat. And her home vanished behind her as she curled into herself and cried. But she was precious, and she didn’t make a sound.   
And she was lifted up and up into the sky, like a bird, and she opened her arms and laughed, because she had been afraid but now she was a bird. The towers were taller than anything she had seen, and there were people more than she had seen, and water more than she had seen, and she was taken up and up, and strange new monsters watched her silently as she laughed, and grabbed her arms to stop her from toppling off the edge as they lifted. And she saw green on top of the spires, and she reached for it.   
And a monster that was scarier than all of the others stared at her, white and strange and tall, with a mask made of teeth that rasped. And a man who they called Organic took her face and prodded and poked her until she cried. And the scary monster with his mask took her face in rough hands and called her precious and pretty, called her his little treasure, his little bird. And Cheedo stood up straight.  
They carried her carefully like a prize and they brought her through so much green, and she reached to touch it, and she laughed. They kept her safe and separate and clean, and an old woman named Miss Giddy cared for her. And she never knew how long she was there, but she spread her arms and dreamed of flying. And one day they came and told her that she could come to her new home. There was a big door that opened slowly, and a tunnel, and the monster called Joe called her a princess and carried her in gently, and she thought that maybe he would take care of her. Maybe he was a father. She had heard about fathers, but never had one. And inside the room there was water, and there was light and there were things she didn’t know the names of. And there were girls, girls in white more beautiful than anything, and they looked at her with eyes that were sad and kind and brave, and they were her sisters, and they took her hands and brushed her hair and they called her baby and they called her sister and they called her brave. They told her she was precious and special, but only to herself. They told her she didn’t have to be anything to anybody else if she didn’t want to be.   
And she learned their names, and they learned hers,  
Angharad, who held her in strong arms and whispered strange words and strange stories about girls who flew out of cages and into the sky. Angharad who cut her anger into her face and arm. Angharad who told her that she was brave, and strong.  
Capable, who brushed her hair and played along when she sang, and called her voice sweet as the wind, and let her cry on her shoulder when she had a nightmare.  
Toast, who didn’t talk much, and spent most of her time reading. Toast would ruffle her hair and steady her hand when the letters Miss Giddy had taught her didn’t come out right.   
Dag, who was her everything, who held her every night and told her that she’d protect her. Told her that they would all protect her. And Cheedo didn’t understand why they needed to protect her. Even when she saw Joe’s ways, she didn’t let herself understand. Dag who braided her hair and made her laugh and called her bird girl and told her that she would fly.   
And they were in their dome, where it was safe, where there was water and green and light. Where Miss Giddy whispered stories and knowledge and kindness. And Cheedo was happy, because she had to be happy. Cheedo let Joe run his hands through her hair and give her gifts and call her little songbird, call her precious and special. Because he wouldn’t hurt her. Because she couldn’t let herself imagine that he would hurt her, or her sisters. Even though she knew. She always knew, although she stuffed it down deep to survive.   
And she was still quiet and patient, and she watched and she listened and she learned.  
And Cheedo watched the world below and imagined flying free, above it all, out of her beautiful cage and into the sky, away from the violence and fear that was below. The violence and fear that Joe told her was there. The violence and fear she half remembered. She would fly away into the sky and up and up until she was free, and the wind carried her to somewhere beautiful, where flowers grew and children laughed and a dark haired woman waited by a stream. One time she made the mistake of telling this dream to Joe. Letting it slip. Because she told it to all of her sisters, and Angharad smiled and told her she would fly. She let it slip without meaning to, and Joe hit her for the first time, bruising her face that he said was so beautiful. He told her that she would die out there. He told her that she would never fly. That the world would rip her to shreds and leave her body to rot under the sun. And she cried that night in her sister’s arms. And Dag tilted her chin until she met her eyes, and told her that she would fly high above any that could hurt her, and she would find a beautiful place where she was safe. They put cool water on her bruise and told her that she wasn’t his little bird, but her own, and her song didn’t have to be for anyone but herself.   
And Cheedo grew, and her fear grew, but she told herself that it was nothing, told herself that she was safe and it was good, because how else can the caged bird go on? And at night she dreamed of a child spinning under the desert sky, jumping off rocks and laughing. And the child became a bird and flew away into the stars.   
When her blood came her sisters held her and cleaned her and told her it would be all right. Told her to hide it. Because she was young. She was too young. She didn’t let herself understand what they meant by that.   
And Furiosa came, fury and anger and deep buried love, and they were not things, Angharad said it like a prayer, and they were out and they were gone, and Cheedo was afraid, but she was free. She was a bird and her sisters were there and they would be safe.   
But Angharad went under the wheels, and there was fire and there was blood, and Cheedo was afraid, and her wings failed her, and she remembered how he had said the world would hurt her. And she tried to run back because she didn’t know what else to do. Because she tried to say that they would be safe again, even if she knew the truth. But her sisters stopped her. Repeated the prayer, we are not things. And she yelled at them and told them she didn’t want it, but followed them in the end.  
And she was a bird and she had wings and she was not a thing. She was young and she was afraid and her heart was cracked, but she was almost free and she didn’t ever want to be caged again, because she had seen out here a glimpse of what could be. What flying could mean. Grasped in the hands of her sisters and Furiosa and old women who lived in the sands. And she took off her new skin and she was white again, a bride, and she called to Rictus and let him take her, because he saw her as weak. He saw her as fragile. Light as a bird. But birds could fly and she took Furiosa's hand because they were not things and they would fly.   
And in the end as they lifted to the sky for the second time in Cheedo’s life, she opened her arms again and looked at the clouds. She was Cheedo and she was a bird and in that moment she could fly to the ends of the earth and back.


End file.
